


When the Bed is too Far

by Of Elves and Wolves (Only2morrow)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, First Time, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5952535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only2morrow/pseuds/Of%20Elves%20and%20Wolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In that moment, Cullen could not have been happier that he chose to replace that old and scruffy desk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Bed is too Far

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written by the lovely @Arrowmaker247 (http://arrowmaker247.tumblr.com/)

A small chuckle emerged, despite the lines of worry that creased the commander’s face.

He wanted the little bottle, yes. He wanted the low buzz at the back of his mind. The cooling hum of lyrium in his veins.

But even more than that…he wanted something red. Lush, twined between his fingers. As rich and brilliant as if they’d been spun from rubies. He wanted something green. Glimmering emeralds, looking his way, pupils blown wide in pleasure, as he found paradise in her body. He wanted something white, tinged with pink. Like a hybrid rose, as a flush gathered, and his fingertips wandered. Bronze lingered in her tanned cheeks, but the skin below, where armor had braced her for so long. Ivory. Porcelain. Untouched, except by him.

The commander drew close, palms grazing the wood of the desk, just behind Ana. She would be braced against the desk, the moment he closed the gap.

“I want…”

A gasp was torn from Ana, the moment glass shattered against the floor.

And in this moment…Cullen couldn’t have cared less. A flood of lyrium could have rushed into the room, streaked the walls cerulean, and sank into his skin. He wouldn’t have cared.

All he wanted was right before him.

A quick sweep of his arm, and the rest of the desk’s contents smashed to the floor. Strong hands came up to gather Ana, gentle as they pushed her back against the oak, and soon joined her.

Rough fingertips grazed her skin, as laces were either untied, or ripped, when patience became a burden. Cullen kissed her with abandon, a soft moan leaving him, as he whispered words of endearment to the woman below him. This precious, mind-blowing woman. She was something better than the philter. She was bottled passion, and Cullen could not tear himself from the tap.

A rustle of cloth, and her overcoat dropped to the floor. Her boots were kicked off, and her pants rolled down, tossed off her ankles. Slender fingers dug into his pauldrons, drawing them over his shoulders…and then slipping over Ana’s own.

A snort of laughter broke the tension, as he watched Ana smirk, idly stroking the furred design, clad in nothing but it, and her undergarments.

“That’s cheating.” He informed the woman before him. “The clothes are supposed to come off.”

Something smoldered in his eyes, liquid amber brimming hot, as a growl emerged, precise and authoritative as any command he’d ushered out on the battlefield. “Clothes off. Now.”

But Ana did not budge. She simply lay there, infuriating woman, that wicked little smirk tacked onto her face, as she twirled a long, slender finger, in suggestion.

Oh. Yes. That…that was quite fair, wasn’t it? He’d seen her nearly naked before, and she’d never so much as glanced at him. His clothes never did seem to come off, before they were interrupted.

Cullen got off the desk for a brief moment, unbuckling armor, kicking off boots, and tugging away his tunic. A mass of rippling muscle appeared beneath the red fabric. To call him sculpted would be an insult. Cullen’s figure could have been crafted not from artists, but by the finest blacksmiths in Denerim. His form was not meant to pose, to be placed on display in some Orlesian gallery. Cullen was built for purpose. For function. And every inch of mortared stone beneath his skin displayed such a thing. Every scar, won in the heart of battle, was testament to his strength.  
Broad shoulders and banded biceps flexed, as big hands found his belt buckle, and allow his breeches to drop. Strong and agile as a lion he may have been, the man felt like little more than a mewling kitten, as his fingers trembled, his grip finding the hem of his smalls.

Maker, what if she was displeased? She was a woman of the court. Sly and cunning, beautiful and tempting. And a noblewoman at that. A simple command, and she could have had hundreds of men in the position he was. Could have simply lined them up before her throne, and demanded that they drop away their coverings, so she could select any she pleased, based on what rose to the occasion.

What if she found him wanting? What if—

Wait.

She was staring. Boldly, unabashedly staring, as he dropped his smalls, and the stout, heavy flesh of his erection rose to greet her. She was smiling, yes, but there was not just lust. Curiosity lingered there as well. Unanswered questions.

Maker…was he her first?

“Ana.” Cullen began, clearing his throat in an awkward gesture, and dropping his hands to carved hips. Though…maybe that wasn’t the best motion. Now it seemed like he was simply celebrating the design between his legs. Drawing attention. Two steps from pointing it at her, like some drunken sailor.

Blasted hell, what did he do with his hands?

No. No. Focus. Ignore the hands.

Wait…what her hands doing? Sweet Maker.

“Ana.” This time he repeated more firmly, taking her own hands in his own, his voice gentling, as he asked, “Is this…uhm…well…there’s really no good way to ask this. I mean, I’ve had a limited share of…”

Oh Maker, this was not where he wanted the conversation to go.

“Am I your first?” He finally spoke, tone careful. Caring. “And is this what you want? Are you certain?”

Little did Cullen know that had he been anyone else, Ana might have choked him bloody in her frustration, and screamed that she would absolutely kill him if he did not finish what he started.

 

Just as Cullen took Ana's hands in to his own, she slipped them out again wandering back towards the object of her desire. But the Commander would have no such nonsense. He'd asked her a serious question, one he deserved an answer... right after her slender hands could circle around that tent Cullen seemed to be pitching in his camp.

Still, though the Commander was as strong as any barbarian. Ana trained for moments like these, her hands slipped again her entire body thrusting impatiently as her hands reached his instrument of her pleasure again, quite eager to play with this new, and very impressive toy set before her.

A whine escaped those berried lips as they set in a pout, her body still fidgeting beneath her. And her hands once again slipping out of their grasp and back on to him. “Not the first.” she finally spoke curling her legs towards him as she ended her play, “Just the first in about... let's say thirteen years.”

Her arms pulled, hands scrambling as Ana thrust her almost naked body as close as she could to Cullen's, her chest heaving upon his bare one with ferocity, “And Cullen, if you ask me if I want this again... I think I might literally murder someone.”

Ana's signal was all it took for her body to be ravished. Passion oozed from Cullen's chiseled body, Ana worshiping from beneath. Her hands roamed recklessly all sense of gentility from their past conversation thrown right out the window with their first kiss. Her own hands tore her bra right off as Cullen's heated lips nibbled at the base of her neck patrolling ever lower. She moaned, sweat forming upon that lovely desk below her.

Just as his lips clasped over one of her bare pink tips she tore those delicate black laced panties bought from the finest store in Val Royeaux right off of her body. Another mew was heard, though this time Ana's plush lips were answered with Cullen's own sealing over her. His hands just as ferocious in their ravaging as hers was. Each movement of their bodies putting more pressure on the desk below.

In that moment, Cullen could not have been happier that he chose to replace that old and scruffy desk.

Though she portrayed herself differently, experience in this particular act was not a skill Ana could simply pull out of her library. In truth, it was only by the grace of trashy novels given to her by Isabela that Ana knew exactly what to expect and how to respond in kind.

He was not like her first. He was not some fumbling noble she simply picked out of curiosity. He was not giggling as his hands came to her folds. He did not chuckle as his lips sealed over her breast again. He was no skinny teenager that muttered, “Boobs” when looking upon hers.

He was a man. And by the Maker did the way Cullen's body moved reflect it. And though the noblewoman was no longer a sixteen year old with curiosities and a rebellious streak, her body still squirmed with impatience eager to drink in every single ounce of pleasure she could get her sneaky hands on.

He commanded her still, but she would not have it, her body responding instantly in kind. “My turn.” she cooed in to Cullen's ear pushing the man to the hard surface of the desk, curiosity sat upon those emerald orbs as she studied each part of Cullen's body on her journey down.

This part seemed rather easy, she thought. Something completely new to Ana's repertoire, the books had described this particular act rather well. She simply needed to put her mouth over his...

She paused. She felt him squirm. Just as her eyes met his she noticed the most wonderful sight... Cullen was blushing.

Oh what fun she would have here.

Ana was no stranger to exploiting an enemy's weakness for her own gain. And now, she had found the Commander's. He moaned, just as her lips sealed over him suckling down upon as much of him as she could possibly manage with those lying lips of hers. With every increasing movement of her rouge lips and roaming hands, that blush plastered upon Cullen's face seemed to fade into the wind, evolving into this mad look of zeal reflecting back in those dusky eyes of his.

Uh-oh. Ana paused her own zest for a mere moment as not a moan liberated itself from Cullen's lips... but a growl. This low, guttural, vulgar thing reserved only for a man so utterly prepared to conquer whatever was set before him.

By the Maker... Ana silently spoke her prayers, what had she created?

In a whirlwind Ana's back was once more upon the sweat-filled desk, Cullen's fingers unmerciful to her silent prayers as moan after moan was ripped from her lips. Her back arched, her nipples hardened, her body seemed gripped in the throws of some secret Templar spell, used only to grant unsuspecting women ultimate nights of paradise.

The symphony of ever climbing euphoria stopped completely as Cullen removed his marvelously calloused fingers from a different set of her lips, his arms wrapping themselves around the noblewoman as she opened the very center of her body to quarter him entirely.

Thirteen years, she'd waited for this moment. Months of agony she'd waited as she sat through torturous sessions of Cullen's shirtless training, weeks of stolen moments interrupted, of kisses, of fondling, of that bitch Florianne. Together, they'd earned this.

Maker help anyone who even thought to interrupt them now.

Though she witnessed the supreme devotion that lay behind her commander's eyes, his lips fastened over hers with a gentility. Her own mouth parting in a smile against his as she reached a hand to cup his cheek her free arm securing herself around his neck. She gasped every inch of herself rippling in little waves of heaven as she granted him harbor between her thighs.

Her neck curled her hair cradling itself behind her, as that neck was ravished with kisses all gentility removed as their shared fire reignited with each and every thrust of their bodies colliding.

 

After years of searching for her place, for her one sanctuary in which she belonged, she, a child of heroes, a royal, a Seeker, an Inquisitor, found a place to call her own... right in Cullen's arms.

Leaving them was simply out of the question. No, that would never do. Her camp pitched itself right here, her heart completely thrown into the simple warmth that lay in her commander's eyes.

Warmth. Fire. In a lonely world such as hers, these were rare commodities. Rarer still that Oriana Theirin, the untouchable woman actually feel them. Oh she had pretended, she'd seduced, she'd lied... but this? This she could not hide if she tried. It took only one simple awkward rub of Cullen's neck for her true feelings to be plastered upon her face.

She adored him. Her heart fluttered each time he paced a room. He was a magnet to her, a flame calling her ever closer but never burning. Their time spent apart tore at her heart, each time her travels took her away from Skyhold was nights spent in torture counting down the moments until she returned once again to his arms.

Still. Adore did not seem the right word. No. Another word took it's place. One simple word said over and over through the throws of time, through war and peace, through joy and through horror.

Love.

“Oh Maker.” she purred into Cullen's ears once more as that stamina reserved for a true warrior was put to the test. Her entire body begged for him to continue, stars forming before her eyes as those thirteen years of drought were just coming to an end.

Cullen was entranced, enraptured, utterly spellbound by the woman before him. Lost in her cries, warm in her embrace.

And for the first time in months, the low buzz at the back of his mind disappeared. His mind no longer roared, his head no longer ached. There was no pain. Only exquisite pleasure, as he lost himself in the woman before him.

Adoration made him bold, his lips roaming over her skin, tasting the salt of her throat. The rise of her breast. The delicate arch of her collar. The plush, berried temptation of her lips. Oh, those lips he could lose himself in, drinking every moan, every mewl.

Ana was something extraordinary. And he was swallowed by the very thought of her.

Hazel eyes dropped low, breath making his chest swell, the muscles tightening, burgeoning, as he watched himself disappear, inside that nest of red, again and again. Wet, burning silk stretching to accommodate him. Until finally, it became too much. She strained, she moaned, she tightened…until that ring of muscle clenched down in a flurry of motion.

He could do nothing, except join her, smothering a roar in the belted muscle of his forearm, as streams of pleasure raced away.

Boneless in his release, Cullen collapsed on the desk, a heavy arm bracing Ana’s waist, pulling her atop him, as they settled.

He fell asleep there, his fingertips curling along the swell of her breast, the slender line of her waist, the curve of her hips and bottom, and the velvet of her belly. He fell asleep, listening to the soft murmurs of her content, and the light giggles she released, squirming in his grasp, every time he found a ticklish place.

The nightmares did not leave. Life was not so kind as that. But waking with Ana beside him, a letter in her hands, made them bearable.

“Running off again?” A slow, lazy smile spread over his face, as he caught sight of the missive in her hands.


End file.
